


Their Own Fight Club

by Elaur



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Fight Club - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elaur/pseuds/Elaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um... fighting and fucking?</p><p>Connor gets horny after waking up from a bender...but Murphy isn't having any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Own Fight Club

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to irmk2003 (livejournal), who helped with "research" and encouraged me to "do it all." Sweetie, this one's for you!

Someone was rhythmically rubbing his lip with sandpaper and sounding like an idling motorcycle. Connor cracked an eye open to see Rocco's damn cat trying to eat his face.

"Fuck!" Connor screamed, jerking up and backward and smashing his head against something above. The cat took off like a shot and Connor howled in pain, trying to hold his skull together with both hands.

After a few minutes of rocking back and forth, praying his brains wouldn't hemorrhage out his ears, he was able to open his eye again to see what the fuck he'd hit his head on. Apparently, he'd crawled under the dining table and passed out. Shit.

Slowly, little bits of memories from last night trickled back into his conscious mind. He, Murphy, and Rocco had gone down to McGinty's to watch a Britain vs. Ireland footie game on the telly and, miracles of miracles, Ireland had won. Needless to say, the entire clientele of the bar went fair daft, and Guinness and whiskey flowed like water. After that, things got hazy. He remembered Doc having to kick them all out before the police showed up…and staggering down the street, singing loudly and holding onto Murph, and then bumping into some ill-tempered blokes….

Connor touched his face and felt around inside his mouth with his tongue, to make sure all his teeth were still there. Without a mirror, he couldn't be sure, but it seemed his other eye, the one that he realized he couldn't see out of, was swollen shut, and he had a split bottom lip. Probably what the fucken cat had been licking.

The thought made Connor gag and he vomited suddenly all over his pants.

"Fucken Christ!" he yelled hoarsely, horrified.

"Fucken shut up!" Murphy yelled back from the other room.

Connor crawled out from under the table, yanked off his boots and wrenched off his jeans, throwing them as far away from himself as possible. Immediately, goose pimples sprouted all along his thighs from the cold.

"Fucken 'ell, it's freezin'!" he whimpered and kept crawling on his hands and knees toward the sofa where he could see Murphy sprawled face down.

He shoved Murphy's shoulder. "Move over, wanker, I'm fucken cold."

Murphy slowly raised his head and looked malevolently at him. "Fuck you," he croaked.

Connor ignored the look and frowned. "You look like shite." Indeed, Murphy looked like he'd been cuddling a carcass in the slaughterhouse. Half his face was caked with blood from a gash on his cheekbone, and he was sporting a shiner as well.

Murphy made a rude noise. "Doubt I look half as bad as you. Did ya try to stop a truck with your face?"

Connor reached out and delicately touched Murphy's gash with his fingertips. "Not a truck. A fist or three maybe. I'll fucken wager you those other blokes look much worse."

Murphy grinned and his teeth were bloodstained. "I don't doubt it for a second."

Connor laughed and then yelped, putting a hand on his lip. "C'mon, Murph, let us on the sofa with ya. It's fucken cold down here."

Murphy sat up slowly and groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs. "What happened to your trousers?" he asked.

"Puked," Connor answered shortly. He found a ratty crocheted blanket hanging at the end of the sofa and wriggled his way underneath Murphy. They struggled to cover themselves with the blanket.

"It smells like cat," Murphy complained, grimacing.

"It doesn't smell like puke though. You, on the other hand, smell like a side of beef."

"And you don't make a good bed. You're hard and lumpy."

Connor grinned with only one side of his mouth. "Some of the hard lumpy parts are quite interesting, though."

He'd seen men quail in fear at the look Murphy was giving him now. But he knew better. He pressed a particularly large, hard and lumpy part up into Murphy's thigh.

"Are ya fucken insane?" Murphy asked conversationally. In reply Connor licked his bloody, stubble-covered chin. "Connor…"

"What?" he asked, exasperated. He fumbled with the waist of Murphy's jeans, trying to get at the zipper.

"What do you mean what ya arsehole?" Murphy hissed, grabbing Connor's wrists to stop his endeavors. "We're in Rocco's place, for fuck's sake!"

"So? He's surely dead to the world." Connor yanked his hands from Murphy's grip and renewed his efforts.

Murphy glared for a moment and then jabbed a left hook right in Connor's liver.

Connor yelped and pushed Murphy off roughly. Murphy smacked his head against the coffee table, knocking over bottles and cans that went tumbling to the floor.

"Playing hard to get, are ya?" Connor teased, rubbing his side as he sat up.

"Fucker," Murphy whispered, then rushed Connor, the top of his head connecting with Connor's belly. Connor's breath came out in a grunting whoosh, and had no air to laugh with. He tried as best he could to protect himself, but Murphy did not let up, punching him fast as lightning on each side of his ribcage.

He stepped back, holding his fists up. "Ya wanna piece of me, eh brother?" he taunted. "You'll have to bite it off, then, if ya can."

Many a time during childhood did the boys have to defend the family honor, and they learned to fight, bare-fisted and dirty, from a young age. Murphy knew Connor was no slouch, and would most likely beat the stuffing out of him, if riled enough. But would he do it if he wanted to fuck instead of fight?

"Fucken 'ell, Murph. It'll just be a quick wank. Who's gonna know?" Connor asked, after getting his air back. He gave Murphy the full-on, big-eyed, Connor charm and sat back.

"C'mon, love," he whispered and licked his bottom lip like he knew Murph liked.

But Murphy was pouting and looking stubborn. Connor sighed. "What if I went to check? If Rocco's still passed out, will ya change your mind?"

Murphy cocked his head, thinking. "Okay. You do that 'n' I'll go take a piss."

Rocco was indeed still passed out. He hadn't even made it to his bed, but lay curled up in a pile of dirty laundry. He looked at Donna, Rocco's on-again, off-again, crazy girlfriend who was in the bed, but she looked just as unconscious, and snoring to rattle the windows. He shut the door quietly.

He met Murphy coming out of the toilet. "Well?" Murphy asked. Connor pursed his lips for a second and opened the bedroom door, where Rocco's legs were visible from the hall. He neglected to mention Donna, but then, Murphy hadn't asked him about her.

He grabbed Murphy by the front of his tee shirt and dragged him back to the couch. This time Murphy didn't resist when Connor sat and pulled him on top and sucked on his mouth. Connor didn't think there was anything more delicious and arousing than Murphy's willing mouth kissing him back. He tasted of stale ciggies, whisky, and undoubtedly needed to brush his teeth, but Connor didn't care. It was ambrosial, and his cock was as hard as iron in seconds.

Murphy straddled Connor's legs and squirmed their crotches closer together. He unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out. He pulled Connor's out from the opening in his boxers and took them both in one hand.

Murphy brought his lips close to Connor's ear. "I'm not your fucken whore," he whispered, then licked the lobe.

Connor moaned loudly as Murphy began stroking their cocks together, pulling back on their foreskins and pushing them up to cover the tips, letting them do all the work.

With his free hand, Murphy cupped Connor's balls through his boxers and gently fondled them. His lips roved down Connor's jaw to suck gently on his saint tattoo. Connor threw back his head as far as it could go to give Murphy easier access. Murphy took advantage and licked around some more, stopping to suck at Connor's mole next to his larynx.

"Murph…" Connor moaned. He unlocked his fingers from the death grip he had on the sofa cushions to pull up on Murphy's tee shirt and caress the silky skin of his back. "Murph…" he groaned again.

Connor pulled Murphy backwards by the shoulders a bit, so as to put his mouth on his nipples. Murphy's nipples were much more sensitive than his were and he used it to his advantage. Murphy hissed and fell back and Connor followed and pressed him against the top of the coffee table. The table squeaked alarmingly.

It was Murphy's turn to groan his brother's name as Connor sucked and bit at his nipples. Murphy's moans shot right to his cock and it surged with arousal. He wanted to both have Murphy in his mouth and have Murphy's mouth on him, and he couldn't wait. He pulled Murphy's hand from their cocks and slid down onto the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, pulling Murphy down onto him facing his groin, with Murphy's right above his face. He tugged the jeans down over his hips until he was fully exposed.

Murphy was not a small man in any way. Quite the opposite: he was well endowed and it had taken Connor lots of practice to not choke to death from sucking him off. But it was well worth it. The pleasure he received from Murphy's pleasure, along with the pleasure from Murphy's mouth, was enough to overcome any hesitation.

He sucked greedily, and Murphy returned the favor. Connor was nearing that mindless state of bliss, when his day took a downturn.

"Here kitty kitty kitty!" a wavering female voice floated behind them. Like a shot, Murphy got off Connor and zipped up his jeans. Connor was left gaping stupidly, his dick sticking out of his boxers. Murphy grabbed the ratty blanket and threw it over Connor's lap, giving him a deadly look.

"Hey," Donna said. "What are you guys doing?"

"Nothing," Murphy said, still looking at Connor. "Nothing at all."

"Oh." Donna stared suspiciously for a bit and turned back to grab the box of cat food on the counter and shaking it. "Here kitty kitty kitty!"

A mournful meow sounded from somewhere and Donna left in search of the cat. "Where you hiding now, Skippy? Did those bad men scare you?"

Murphy had not left off staring at Connor in that malevolent way he had. Connor was starting to get a tad nervous.

"Fucken 'ell, Murph. She was fucken passed out and snorin'!"

"You bastard. Is your dick more important than my feelings?" Murphy asked quietly.

Connor felt shame for the first time in ages. "I'm sorry, brother." He stood up awkwardly in the small space and faced Murphy. He grinned widely, splitting his lip open again. "Hit me."

Murphy cocked his head. "What?"

"Hit me as hard as you can," Connor said, spreading his arms wide.

Murphy laughed. "You are a crazy fucker," he told Connor, and punched him in the gut with all his strength.

Connor doubled over and coughed, tasting blood. "Fuck," he whispered as he righted himself. But Murphy wasn't finished.

"Tyler says, 'You are not your job--'" Murphy said, jabbing his fist in Connor's right pectoral on the last word. "'You are not the contents of your wallet--'" Another jab to the left pectoral. "'You are not your khakis--'" A roundhouse kick to his knees brought him down flat to the floor. "'You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake--'" A swift kick to his left thigh.

Connor had been laughing helplessly through the whole thing, picturing Murphy in one of Tyler Durden's hideously loud shirts and Elvis shades.

He recovered enough to take the next line: "Self improvement is masturbation!" he yelled and kicked Murphy square in the sternum. Murphy flew backwards and landed on his arse, legs and arms flying.

"Self-destruction must be the answer!" Connor yelled again, and threw himself on top of Murphy, who was convulsed with laughter. He threw blind punches at Connor's head which were easily deflected, and they both collapsed in a heap of childish giggles and snorts.

"What the fucking fuck are you fucks doing?" Rocco's raspy voice berated them. "Can't a guy get a fucking good night's sleep around here?"

"It's midmorning ya dumb wop," Murphy told him, struggling out from underneath Connor. "Get off me, ya fuck."

Rocco scratched his head roughly, not improving his hairstyle at all. "Hey Connor, your dick's hangin' out of your boxers."

Connor looked down reflexively and Murphy collapsed again, screeching with laughter.

"Aye, well, Murphy was wantin' to suck it but I had to forcefully decline," Connor replied as he tucked himself back in.

"Fuck you!" Murphy yelled, throwing a punch that connected solidly with his chin. Connor saw a flash of light and the next thing he knew, he was in Rocco's shower, being blasted by freezing water. He spluttered and flailed, trying to get out from under the spray.

"Hold on, hold on!" Murphy held him down and turned on the hot water tap.

"You fucken trying to kill me?" Connor spluttered. "I almost had a heart attack!"

"Ya weren't waking up. I got scared."

Connor looked up to see Murphy wasn't exaggerating. "Come in here then."

Murphy stared at Connor for a bit and reached back to make sure the lock on the door was engaged. He stripped down and got in with Connor.

The kiss was long and lingering, more gentle and caressing than they were used to giving each other. Perhaps it was the warm water beating down on them; perhaps it was the beating they had received the night before, or the beating they'd just given each other. Either way, slick lips rubbed against each other, warm tongues licked and pressed and burrowed their way along bruised or broken skin, tasting, caressing, loving what they found.

Hands too, were busy wandering up and down smooth skin, their touches healing each other's souls, if not their bodies.

"Murph…" Connor whispered, softly enough so that only God could hear. But Murphy did hear, perhaps not with his ears, but his heart.

"Aye, brother," Murphy whispered against his lips. "Turn over, man."

Connor did as he was bid, settling on his hands and knees, barely room enough for the both of them even with Murphy kneeling between his spread thighs. Connor groaned, hearing Murphy lather up his hands with the Ivory soap. He purred when Murphy ran his hands up and down his back, pressing along his spine with his thumbs, squeezing his shoulders and running his thumbs along his nape into his hair.

Connor pressed backward into Murphy, encouraging him to get on with it. Murphy got the hint and lathered up again. Connor felt warm fingers probing, circling, teasing, pressing and entering. Connor didn't need the prep, but Murphy loved doing it. Murphy had often told him it almost felt better than having his cock in there, and wished he could come by fucking Connor with just his fingers.

Connor felt Murphy press his face into his back, his lips moving in either silent prayer or cursing. Connor felt a surge of anticipation and arousal go directly to his groin. When Murphy lost his mind enough to start talking to himself, Connor was sure to reap the benefits.

The transition from fingers to cock was so smooth that Connor wouldn't have noticed it if Murphy wasn't so big. "A fucken beer can," was what Connor had once overheard some drunk busty blonde in McGinty's remark to her girlfriend regarding to Murphy's endowments.

"You're getting good at that, Murph," Connor gasped.

"Uhn," was Murphy's reply. His soap-slicked hands ran up his back to grip Connor by the shoulders. Connor's breath hitched, and he braced himself for the ride.

The pounding that Murphy took up was both better and worse than the pounding he'd given Connor with his fists. In a way it was completely different, yet the same. He felt Murphy's love whether he used his fists or his cock to pound him….and felt his rage just the same. The bliss in Connor's body made little differentiation, either way he was sore the next day.

All Connor really cared about was that Murphy was with him, in whatever manner Murphy was willing. His own pride and contrariness caused him to push Murphy away sometimes, just to feel the pain of separation. After all, there was a lot to be said for make-up sex.

Connor groaned and tried to stay upright, but it was a losing battle. Murphy was draped over his back now, using the bathtub as leverage to pound him even harder. Connor pressed his forearm against the tiles and rested his head against it, holding the side of the tub with his other arm.

A loud knocking at the door startled Connor out of his concentration. "Fuck! You guys ok in there?" Rocco yelled. Unable to answer coherently, Murphy just groaned. Rocco jerked the knob and Connor yelled, "It's ok, Roc. We're just washing up!"

"Don't use up all the hot water! I gotta take a shower too."

"Okay! Alright!"

Murphy brought him back to the task at hand by biting his shoulder. "Connor!" he yelled, and came violently, arching up and gasping in high-pitched whimpers: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Connor took himself in hand, almost absentmindedly, stroking quickly and efficiently, bringing himself to his own completion as Murphy shuddered against him.

Murphy fell away and Connor turned around to face him, sitting down in the tub. This was his favorite part: watching Murphy's face as he slowly came down from his orgasm. His heart swelled with unnamed emotion seeing the rosy blush on his pale cheeks, the tenseness gone from his brow and his lips. It was his doing…Connor was the reason Murphy was at peace. It was the reason Connor was always so insistent on their coupling. Not only for his own physical pleasure, but for the peace it brought to his twin's face.

This was what his real religion was, and Saint Murphy was his deity.

 

~FIN~


End file.
